Maybe this time
by sundayarvo
Summary: Sandra enters the world of a silver tongued stranger she meets at the pub, and starts to wonder whether she can break the habits of a life time.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Two pints, a lemon squash and a pinot**

Sandra tried to catch the barmaid's eye, but just couldn't get it. It was pretty clear to Sandra that it was deliberate. They were around the same age, but Sandra knew she wore it better. She tried not to look annoyed – there but for the grace of God and all that - but come on, was it really necessary to serve all the good looking men first? Really, all the men when it came down to it, because it wasn't like there were that many prospects at this dingy little back alley pub late on a rainy Wednesday afternoon.

Sandra looked the barmaid up and down. She tried a smile, but no, that didn't work either. Shit, maybe she should have sent Gerry. The barmaid was just his type. Or rather, Gerry was hers.

"What'll be love?" Sandra went to answer, but then saw that the barmaid was looking not at her, but at the man standing right next to her, just slightly too close. He'd managed to appear at her side without her realising it. She opened her mouth, ready to make her view on the situation clear. But then she glanced at him again. It wasn't the eyes – but only because she hadn't seen them yet. Strangely enough, it was his profile. An odd thing to catch your attention, but there was something about it. He looked regal. He held himself like he knew he could drink in better establishments, but chose to be here. Everything about him was slightly off, but together it fitted. Grey hair, grey eyes and a bit of an office pallor. But on him it looked, well, silver rather than grey. Not all that tall, but tall enough. And there was a quietness. Like he didn't need to make any noise to be heard. He was used to being noticed.

Sandra blinked and realised that both the barmaid and this man were looking at her. "Umm, sorry?"

"I said I would have a pinot and whatever you're having." He looked her dead in the eye with just a suggestion of a sly grin on his face. He didn't need to look her up and down for Sandra to know exactly why he wanted to buy her a drink. And for Sandra to know she wanted to accept.

"Oh, thank you, but that's ok. It's my round you see." Sandra gestured over to her boys. Shit, good one Sandra. What if he thinks you're with one of them. "My boys you see, we just finished a case, so I'm shouting."

"And did you win? Your case I mean."

"Of course. That's what we do." Lame reply. So lame. Why was it always necessary to prove herself?

"Well then, I'd like to buy you and your boys a round. But only if _you_ join me in the corner." He gestured with his head in the other direction from Jack, Brian and Gerry.

Oh hell yes, thinks Sandra. "Ok. Sure. Why not." Sandra flashed him a smile.

"I'm Sandra". She said as she held out her hand, ready to shake his. He took it, but lightly. A touch, rather than a shake. But at the same time he put his left hand on her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek. A guess you'd call it a kiss, but he's barely touched her.

"John." Oh, this guy was good.

She turned to the barmaid. "Um, two pints, a lemon squash and." Think quick and think classy. "Actually, I'll have a pinot as well".

"Make it a bottle." Said the silvery stranger.

He'd kept his distance at first. John. Well only if you measured time in seconds. It had taken just two sips before he'd touched her arm. And not her forearm, up near her bicep (such that it was). Disarmingly close to her breast. It had taken until just before the end of her first glass before his hand was on her knee.

"So what brings you to this dive? It doesn't fit?"

"Are you saying I don't fit? That's lovely Sandra." But he gave her thigh an oh so light squeeze as he said it.

"No. I didn't mean you didn't fit here. This place doesn't fit you. Sorry, they sound the same when I say them out loud, but in my head they're different. I guess I mean I don't know why you would choose to drink here when you clearly could do better." She tilted her head, put her hand on his and curled her lip in to a half smile. "Explain yourself."

"I work down the road. And it wasn't a particularly good day. And when it's not a particularly good day I come here. For a drink by myself. In a place where I won't bump in to anyone I know. You can be certain of that at a place like this."

"Oh right, I get it" Sandra said as she removed her hand from his and rested it on the table, next to her drink. "Sure. I get it. You're slumming it. In which case, I think the barmaid's more your speed." Sandra looked him in the eye. Determined not to look down.

"No. I'm sorry Sandra. That didn't come out right. I did have a bad day. But a bad day isn't someone losing money, it's some losing a couple of years of their life. And sometimes I come here when the choice is drink in the dark by myself in my dingy kitchen, or come here and drink by myself in a crowd. And this place is close to work, and it's anonymous." He didn't move his hand. He held her gaze. There was something about him that was deeply attractive. She couldn't figure out how he had managed to be both vulnerable and self assured, all at the same time.

"I thought I wanted to have a drink alone. But then I saw you at the bar, and I knew I wanted that drink to be with you. And in what is almost certainly the best part of my day so far, we're talking about my bad day. When I'd much rather talk about you." John moved his hand off her thigh and placed it over her hand on the table. Sandra let him and kept his gaze.

Maybe, Sandra thought. Maybe this time it would stick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Six soft white pillows**

She hadn't expected him to call. Hoped, but not expected. She had been doing this long enough to know a one night stand when she saw one, and John had all the signs. He was so smooth, so very practiced. Sandra was almost certain he had charmed many, many women in to his bed over the years. But only almost certain, because there was something about him. Something about the way he treated her, the way he was with her, that made her think that there was something between them. Something, well, special.

It wasn't just that he'd called. It's that he'd called the following morning – during the morning adjournment she would later learn – and asked her for dinner that evening. Now that was unexpected, but not unwelcome. And then more phone calls, flowers, drinks and dinners. She was starting to think that this could be turning into something serious.

She was even starting to get comfortable in what had to be the biggest bed she had ever seen. It was like a queen with another single pushed along side of it. More than a king, surely? Sandra wasn't sure, but it was a ridiculous bed for a normal sized man. It fit three pillows lengthways along it. John, had two of each; six soft white pillows. What kind of bachelor had six soft white pillows on his bed?

What bothered her was that she knew so little about John or his background. She had no frame of reference. She'd watched him interact with barmaids and waitresses (usually a pretty reliable indication of how a man would eventually treat you, in Sandra's experience), but that was it. Sandra had always been inclined to think the worse of people and situations. It was partly her job – always seeing people at their worst – but it was also her experience of people. So she was having difficulty with a man who didn't disappoint her. Who really did seem to be interested. And attentive. They went to restaurants she liked, and movies she wanted to see. It really felt like he was happy doing what made her happy. She wasn't used to feeling like this, but she knew she liked it.

Sandra lay on her side, arm under her head and watched John sleep. He lay on his back, arms by his side, breathing evenly. Sandra lifted her hand and brought it down close to John's chest. So close that she could feel the warmth of him and the coarseness of his chest hair, but not his skin, as she didn't want to wake him. Except, that she did.

It worked. John opened one eye. The eye closest to her. And a smile flickered. "I'm glad you're still here."  
"Oh yes." Said Sandra. "why is that, I wonder?" Sandra said as she eliminated the gap between her hand and John's chest, and shuffled closer.  
John closed the remaining distance between them, so their entire bodies were touching. "Because I was hoping for a favour"  
"Well, I operate on a quid pro quo basis." Sandra said, a smile dancing on her lips as she knew what was to come.  
"And what would that involve?" John moved a hand from his side to Sandra's thigh, under the sheets.  
"You're a lawyer, surely you know enough Latin to understand quid pro quo." John propped himself up on his free elbow, his away arm so that his body was tilted towards hers. He moved his face closer to Sandra's, inch by inch.  
"Isn't that something to do with back scratching? "  
"You're on the right track"  
"How's this" John asked as he reached around and placed his fingertips ever so lightly on the small of Sandra's back.  
"Getting warmer"  
"And this? " More pressure this time, as John's arm drew Sandra in closer.

Sandra couldn't think of anything she wanted to say more than she wanted John's lips on hers. So she narrowed the small gap between their lips. But just before she got there, John pulled back a touch.  
"No, no. Favour first"  
"What?" Sandra had no patience for pleasantries.  
"There's this cocktail party next Saturday. Will you accompany me? "  
"Of course" Sandra said, not managing to keep the frustration out of her voice. She moved forward. Once again John moved back.

"In the interests of full disclosure…"  
Now he had Sandra's attention. She leaned back and looked John in the eye.  
"What?" The same word she uttered only moments before, but said a very different way. "What's the catch?"  
"It's at George's. Some fancy thing. Not really my scene, but I should be seen there. And it's much too boring to go by myself. So I'd like you to come. It could be fun…." He let the last sentence trail off. Neither of them really believed it was true.

So, some old friend's fancy cocktail thing. Who cares thought Sandra? "Of course I'll go with you." Sandra smiled at him, touched that he'd thought she might say no. "Now back to the quid pro quo". There was no doubting that John had skills, and Sandra wasn't about to miss out on his part of the deal.

"One more thing. George is my ex-wife." This time John closed the gap between them quickly, leaving Sandra with no time or space for anything but the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – A modicum of feelings**

"Again Neil? Really? We really need to go through this again?" George Channing consciously let a hint of exasperation creep in to her voice. "He's coming because I invited him. I invited him because he is one of Her Majesty's judges and you are a Cabinet Minister. It would be rude to leave him off the list. And I know how you hate to be rude." She gives a broad smile as she says the last line. A fake smile. Straightaway she knew it was too much.

"Oh come on Georgina. Don't you play me. You forget I know all of your tricks." Neil replied, clearly annoyed.

No you don't, thinks George. Not even close. "Neil, you are not my father. Don't pull out the Georgina on me. It's done. He was invited. He accepted. End of story. If you don't want him here, uninvite him." This time, George kept her voice even. But it was still no nonsense. It was done. Both of them knew that uninviting John wasn't an option. People like Neil Haughton did not uninvite people to parties. Even when it was his wife's ex-husband. Even when he hated the man. Especially when he hated the man.

Enough of the whacking him on the head, thought George. She sometimes had to remind herself to be nice. So she stood and slowly walked over to him. This second man who she promised to honour and cherish. To love forever before God. Funny things promises like that. They tend to be easier to keep if you actually mean them at the time you make them. George got right up close to Neil before he even looked at her. He was more angry that she anticipated. He wasn't quite grimacing, but there was something about the way that he was holding his jaw that George thought seemed calculated. Like he was having to keep his emotions in check.

She touched him just below the shoulder; the palm of her left hand flat on his chest. A gesture of a wife to a husband. Yet somehow impersonal. He didn't move or say anything. George knew from experience that no resistance was good when it came to Neil.

"Darling, I don't want people to talk. If people think you and John don't get on, they will talk. And they'll talk about you. And that has the potential to affect your career." She looked up. Saw that he was finally looking her in the eye. "I don't want my past to affect your future." Too much? Possibly. But George knew that sometimes with Neil you needed to lay it on thick. Pander to him really. "This way people see you together in a big group, in a situation where you – we - don't have to actually interact with him."

"Besides." She pauses for effect. "He's bringing a date." The clincher. As much as Neil would deny it, George knew that the root of his issue with John was her. Well, her and John. If only he knew. There was really no need to get jealous. Well no, that wasn't quite right. She had spent a few hours alone in John's company here and there over the years, but John was no threat to her marriage. If she wanted to be with John she wouldn't have left him all those years ago, with a young daughter in tow. When it came down to it, George invited John around as she liked to remind Neil that he was lucky to have her.

"I just don't like him in my house." Our house you mean, thinks George. Our house.

"I know my darling. But it's all a means to an end." This time a kiss, she thought. She moved her hand up to his shoulder and reached up, her pursed lips to his grimace. Not exactly passionless, but not a kiss for the ages either. A stock standard, comfortable in your marriage, middle aged kiss.

As she lifted her hand from his shoulder, his reached out his right hand and took George's wrist. Firmly. It didn't hurt, but there was some feeling behind the gesture. He moved forward and narrowed the gap between them. Reaching behind her head with his left hand, Neil guided her head to his, her lips to his again.

But just before they touched, he paused. Just for a beat. Not even a second. But George knew. Knew what he was trying to tell her. That he was in charge. And he was. She knew what she was getting herself in to, that autumn evening not quite three years ago. And she'd known it since. She got social respectability and a life outside of work and her past. He got a trophy wife. A trophy wife of the kind that's acceptable in British politics. An asset even. Intelligent, a good name, of an appropriate age, but still a looker. A bargain that worked for both of them. It was what she wanted. She didn't want to swept away, or lose control. She'd done that before. She wasn't doing it again. She didn't want the highs if it meant she got the lows too. She had loved John, and he had made a fool out of her in return. She didn't make mistakes twice. This time she married with her head. Neil wasn't going to set her world on fire, but he would keep her warm at night. A modicum of feelings was fine. It was safe. It suited her well enough.

So she played the game. She inhaled as the tip of his tongue found its way to hers. She let him know he'd had an effect. It wasn't that hard really, when it came down to it. The kiss was not entirely unwelcome. Her free hand moved to sit on Neil's hip. Just above his belt, on the pristine white of his shirt. Pale pink might be the new blue, but not for Neil. Home Secretaries did not wear pink he said. Under any circumstances.

And as soon as it started, it stopped. Neil shifted his kiss to her forehead, released her wrist and left the room without a word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Two black dresses**

_Why had she ever agreed to this? It sounded like a good idea at the time. Actually, it didn't at all, but she had been persuaded. A fancy pants party at the Home Secretary's house. House? Residence? What did you call a Cabinet Minister's house? Obviously not a flat, but... Shit Pullman, so out of your depth._

_And you'd think I'd make it easy for myself. Sandra thought. But no. She had decided that the only suitable thing she could possibly wear was a very cute very dark blue dress. The blue dress that just happened to be crumpled at the bottom of her wardrobe smelling a little bit too much like the merlot she was drinking last time she wore it. So, obviously, the only thing to be done is a spot of last minute shopping. At 4:40 on a Saturday. Jesus Christ Pullman, get your shit together._

* * *

Organisation. That's what it came down to, George thought. You could do anything if you were organised and had a list. A list was the key. You could run a country with a comprehensive to do list. George simply didn't understand disorganised people. It was just laziness. Throwing a cocktail party for 80 was no problem with a list. Well, it was a lot of hard work, but George knew everything would go smoothly.

She smiled to herself as she applied a thick stroke of eyeliner to an upper lid. She'd had so many years of this routine, but never tired of it. The getting ready. The promise of a night out. Well, a night in, in this case. But that made it all the better. Being the host. Choosing the mood, the atmosphere. The food, the liquor, the tone.

She took a large swallow of chilled sauvignon and smiled. More eyeliner, more mascara. She knew her eyes were her best feature. Well, the feature people commented on in polite company. She happened to notice that a lot of the time, men happened to glance a little bit lower, to catch a glimpse of her two other "assets". But for now, her focus was on her eyes. And the sauvignon.

* * *

_25 minutes! That was it. And even that was more than she knew she really deserved. 25 minutes to get ready. From whoa to go. This was not how she wanted tonight to go. She wanted John to be proud to show up with her, to want to keep her around. But, once again, she had too much to do, but not enough time to do it properly._

_Sandra heard the buzzer as she threw some mascara on. Shit, he's early, Sandra thought. Make up only just started and hair a mess. Shit. She grabbed her robe and put one arm in as she buzzed him up. _

* * *

George looked at the finished product and smiled. She knew she was carrying a little bit of extra weight around the middle (who wasn't) but besides that, she was happy with what she saw. She turned as she heard footsteps up the hall. Might as well give the ensemble it's full effect.

"My darling you look lovely. Absolutely delightful." She could tell from Neil's face that he meant it.

"You don't look so bad yourself. You certainly know how to wear a tuxedo." George wasn't lying. Neil took her hands and went to kiss her. George moved her head to the side at the last minute.

"Sorry. Lipstick."

"Of course." Neil moved his hands from hers and rested them on her hips. He looked her up and down and sucked a breath in. "Jesus George, how much did that dress set me back. It's..."

George knew she looked good. Damn good. So good that it appeared Neil didn't have the words in his vocabulary. Exactly the look she was going for. She knew the dress was perfect for a night like this. Black silk. Fitting, but not tight. Well, maybe just a little tight. It was sleeveless with a highish neck, which sat just as where the curve of her collar bone. It sat above below the knee, but had a spilt up the side that was just a tiny bit risque. She knew that's where Neil's eyes were.

She put her hands over his, still on her hips. "Well, the wife of the Home Secretary can't look second rate now, can she."

Sandra applied her mascara for the second time, while John's nose cut a trail from the base of her neck, up through her hair. One hand on her breast, slipping back under her robe; the other on her hip.

* * *

"_Jesus John you're distracting. I can't hold this straight while you're doing that." He came up for air, and looked at her in the mirror. He tilted his head to one side. "Really? I wasn't sure I was having much effect." But the look on his face told a different story. He knew exactly what he was doing. _

"_We're already late. Really late. And I need five minutes. Why don't you get us both a drink?"_

_That look again. "Really? Feeling a little parched there Sandra?" John barely managed to keep a straight face, as he moved his fingers slowly but deliberately. _

"_Look, go and find your trousers and pour us some wine. I'll get sorted and then we can go." John pulled a face in the mirror. She pulled a face back. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can leave and get back here." John's hands dropped to his side and he left her bathroom without another word. Sandra smiled to herself. Why do men always look ridiculous wearing a business shirt and no trousers, whereas women look anything but?_

_Sandra pulled her robe closed again and walked to her new dress hanging on the back of her bedroom door. Black, silky, fitting, with a slit up one side. She hoped it was the perfect dress for this sort of occasion, but when it came down to it, she'd taken a bit of a gamble. She knew the old adage – show off either the boobs or the legs, but not both. She knew her boobs were better than her legs, but she was also pretty sure that there wouldn't be a lot of cleavage on display. And she didn't want to embarrass John. So she'd gone for a much too expensive little black number. High necked, but the split up the side meant it was still sexy. Still a bit of her. Just a flasher, richer bit of her._

_She pulled the dress over her head and looked at herself in the mirror and decided that the 'just got out of bed' hair is working for her this evening. Or maybe it's the smile._

"_John, can you give me a hand with this zip? It's going up this time."_


End file.
